


Fade Into You

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Cheating, College, Cunnilingus, Domestic Violence, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/F, Fainting, Haircuts, Injury, Military, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't help it. Despite the ups and downs, Rae's kind of in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fade Into You

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of fainting/disordered eating, combat injuries, PTSD, and (accidental) domestic violence

On Wednesday and Saturday mornings, Rae takes yoga classes at the place near their apartment; surprisingly enough, she never talks during them. Brad doesn't believe her about it, but whatever. It's not like he could hold the fucking feathered peacock pose or whatever the fuck it is for over seven minutes—that's what he gets for being built like an Aryan god: shitty balance.

Rae's tried to bring Willa along, but she never comes. "I should run instead," she says. Sometimes she's still sleeping when Rae leaves at eight-thirty. The Corps is wearing Willa down, Rae knows, despite her valiant efforts not to let it. By now, she'd had time to adjust to being a Sergeant, but her last time deployed, her CO was a fucking useless dick-suck pencil-pusher (Rae's words), so Willa silently took on some extra responsibility. It's just who she is, and she says she doesn't want recognition or anything for it, but Rae knows how it feels when someone jacks credit for work _you_ did—fuck, that was basically Encino Man's SOP during OIF.

It's not like Rae isn't busy enough herself, though. She's getting a B.A. in Math and a B.S. in Computer Engineering at UC San Diego (and is in the honors program for _both_ , thank you, so her high school calc teacher can suck it). On top of that, she works part-time at an auto shop and a yuppie health club (same shit, different day) to make up the difference between the aid she gets and tuition—she doesn't want to dip into her savings if she doesn't have to. It's about as hard as Recon, but she did that, so she can definitely do this.

Willa wants to go to college, but her schedule's so erratic that it wouldn't be worth it. As of now, she's career military anyway. Rae thinks it'd be good to have other options, just in case, but she's sick of fighting about it, so they don't talk about the future anymore. Willa redeploys in a few days anyway; right now she's in the bathroom cutting her hair while humming "Always On My Mind." The barbershop down the street doesn't charge much and Rae gets a discount with her dog tags, but Willa says she likes doing it herself. Sometimes, though (like now), Rae needs to reset the line straighter. In all fairness, a home pixie cut isn't as easy as it might seem. (Rae knows. She's tried it.)

"Thanks," Willa murmurs. Her neck is bare and tanned, and Rae leans down to press a kiss to the soft skin. She smells like lotion and pancake batter, and a lock of hair falls away from her head to land on the floor. Rae hates this part—when Willa's gorgeous, springy curls give way to the regulation cut. It's not even that she thinks Willa looks bad with short hair (she totally doesn't), but it's the fact that Willa's leaving again. And they have to hide their relationship for the Corps. She can't get a family separation allowance, which would really help with the rent. But it's how they have to do things.

"Want me to make dinner?" Rae asks. She cooks like a motherfucking boss, and Willa deserves a fucking kickass meal before months of MREs. There are burgers in the freezer and what she needs for salad in the fridge; she made caramel brownies this morning.

"That'd be great," Willa says. "I should finish this." She cuts off another section of hair, which is starting to pile up on the floor.

*

Rae has three glasses of wine with dinner and Willa has four. After, they go to bed, leaving the dishes in the sink. Willa's suitcase is only half-packed on the chair in the corner, but she always gets up early in the morning to finish it, so they have time. Rae kisses her and Willa kisses back, needy and urgent. (They _do_ have time, but it's hardly unlimited.)

The alcohol makes Rae's tongue feel loose in her mouth, a little numb, but it only makes Willa's seem smoother. They make out for a bit like that, Willa's head on the pillow and Rae straddling either side of her hips. After a while, the ache between her legs gets too difficult to ignore and she rubs against nothing but denim, which doesn't alleviate anything. "C'mon," she says. "Take off your pants."

It doesn't matter that Willa's fingers fly to the button of her jeans; Rae's already there and working on it. The fabric ripping away from Willa's legs sounds painful. Rae winces in sympathy before soothing the skin with her lips, pressing soft kisses to Willa's shins. Her legs are tan and silky, unmarred save for the scar from when she took shrapnel to the knee, and Rae lingers on the spot for a moment.

" _Stop_ it," Willa giggles, when Rae's fingers brush over the sole of her foot, but Rae never just gives up on a tickle fight. Foot still captive, her body arches into a bow, and just because Rae gets distracted for a second there does _not_ mean she's admitting defeat. "Keep doing that and see how much sex you get," Willa says.

 _That_ means Rae's admitting defeat. Willa's curves fit perfectly against Rae's palms and she's soft and warm and _there_ , at least for another few days. So she presses her fingers into Willa's back and teases her until she's on edge and begging for it; they don't do that nearly enough.

Time slips away like that, with Rae's tongue in Willa's cunt and both of them moaning. From this angle, Willa's everything.

*

Willa's flight is at seven a.m. but Rae can't sleep the night before so she alternates coffee and Ripped Fuel to make sure she stays awake for the drive to the airport. Garza and Lilley are both doing another tour, so Rae's being there shouldn't arouse suspicion. (They said their real goodbyes before leaving the house. Even Rae understands that some thing should, or need to be, kept private.)

Willa looks all hot and authoritative in her crisp, freshly-pressed (thanks to Rae) utilities. She gets a few stares as they hurry through the bustling airport, and Rae digs her nails into her palms instead of linking her fingers with Willa's.

This deployment's supposed to be a short one, but they both know that's not the truth. The Corps might actually _try_ to get their Marines back home to their families as soon as possible, but shit happens. (And they make shit happen, so Rae's not holding her breath.)

Rae's not one to get overly sentimental about birthdays and shit, but it looks like Willa will miss her graduation, and that _does_ upset her. She's working really fucking hard for her degrees, and it's not like Willa's choosing to miss it, but it hurts just the same.

Garza's listening to his iPod and Lilley's hugging her husband goodbye; their CO this time around, Captain DeBlois, is talking to a couple PFCs. After she and Rae share an awkward hug, Willa heads over to join them, shouldering her bag easily.

"Bye," she says, running a hand through her newly-shorn hair. Halfway to the captain, Willa doubles back and adds, "Be good, okay?" quiet enough that no one else can hear. Her eyes are full of longing, and that _actually_ makes Rae's heart hurt.

Which is pretty gay. But she can't help it. She's kind of in love.

*

All of Rae's energy goes into school, into work. For days, she subsists on Ripped Fuel and double shots of espresso, which goes fine until she passes out in her Poli Sci workshop.

She comes to in an unfamiliar bed with an IV in her arm and a scared-looking intern watching her. (Just because she's not in the Corps doesn't mean her recon skills have gone to shit.) The lights are way too bright, and the room smells artificially sterile.

Later (Rae doesn't know how much later, but it's a while after the intern leaves), a doctor comes in, her scrubs a couple shades darker than dress blues. "You fainted," she says, eyeing Rae up and down.

 _No shit_ , Rae thinks.

"When was the last time you ate?" The doctor's trying a different approach now, all sympathetic and well-meaning.

"I wasn't hungry."

She sighs. "Look. Eating disorders are a very serious matter. Your blood work came back clean, though, except for the ephedrine—you shouldn't be taking that, either, but I can't stop you. Otherwise, you're perfectly healthy. I'd really like to keep you overnight, just for observation to rule out any underlying conditions you might have, but I can't force you."

Rae leaves against medical advice, stopping on the way home for Skittles and peanut butter crackers and instant hot chocolate. She eats until she feels sick, and then goes back to bed, not bothering to change out of her clothes.

*

It's dark when she wakes up, and her stomach is rumbling again. The fridge is mostly empty, cleaned out after Willa's going-away dinner, but Rae manages to scrounge up enough for a grilled cheese, which she eats sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Her phone is flashing with three missed calls and a voicemail.

"Come on, Rae," Brad's recorded voice says. "I know you're there. Don't be an asshole." He heaves a big, put-upon sigh. "We'll go out for drinks this weekend, okay? You know I know how you feel."  

Rae doesn't even know what day it is. All she knows is that she's behind on work.

*

When she has extra time, Rae writes letters. They're not from her, but from Colin.

Colin is Willa's boyfriend. He's an architect. He's three years older than her, with dark hair and kind, almond-shaped eyes. His parents are from Japan, but he doesn't speak much Japanese. He does speak Italian, though—studied there in college; in his letters, he promises to whisper sweet nothings into Willa's ear when she gets back.

Rae kind of hates Colin. (So what if she made him up?) He has what she can't (in public, anyway). It's a good idea, but Rae hates pretending like she and Willa don't love each other.

*

There are decent club and bar scenes, but Rae doesn't really hang around there.

Until she does.

It makes her feel guiltier than it should, really. Willa's been gone for five months and Rae's lonely. Living in an otherwise-empty apartment is hard, but being there at night is even harder. All she plans on doing is nursing a few drinks so she doesn't have to listen to herself think; instead, she can drown that out with the loud music.

She's already buzzed when she hears someone say, "Can I buy you another?" and turns to look at the source.

Of course she's fucking gorgeous. Of course. In addition to a thick, honey-sweet voice, the chick has long, silky hair and clear skin, glossy peach lips that rival Nate's. The cut of her top emphasizes the nice pair of tits she has underneath, and her ass—

Shit. Rae's probably being really obvious. "I, um," she says. "I'd like that, but I'm in a relationship."

"It's just   a drink," the woman coaxes. "I'm Andrea." She extends a hand to shake. Her short nails are painted deep red, which makes Rae feel self-conscious about her own dirty, bitten-to-the-quick ones and inelegant fingers.

"Okay," Rae says, because why should she turn down a free drink if that's all it is? A true Marine would never.

*

Except it's not. Not hardly. It's probably the last thing Rae had intended on doing, but WIlla's hardly home even when she's not deployed, and Rae can only talk to herself so much before she starts to lose it. She doesn't (much) mind insults or injuries, but she can't stand being alone.

So Andrea buys her a drink, and another, and another, and then invites Rae back to her place; _yes_ rolls off Rae's tongue before she can stop it. They take a cab back to her loft, which is small but colorful, though that's all Rae notices about it. She's more drunk than she's been in a long time.

They kiss, hot and intense and dizzying, and touch a little. Rae loses track of time, but when Andrea goes to unbutton her jeans, Rae freezes. She _can't_. She thought she could do this, only she keeps picturing Willa's tear-stained face after she finds out, and it makes her mutter an excuse and leave.

*

When she fully realizes what she's done (which isn't until she wakes up the next morning, sweaty and hungover, she hates herself. Rae loves Willa, even though she sometimes gets frustrated with her. Willa's sweet and dedicated and considerate. She has a great voice and gets Rae's sense of humor and makes _amazing_ desserts. When they're not fighting or thousands of miles apart, they make a great couple.

Willa's in Fallujah, serving her country and lying in order to do so, and Rae almost had a one-night stand.

Brad tells her all the time that she's a terrible person, but until now, Rae never believed it.

*

Graduation is in May. Rae gets her cap and gown, her diplomas, and some new clothes for her fancy new job. Which is in Chicago. Which is over sixteen hundred miles away from Willa, but Rae accepted Accenture's offer because they've got an awesome consulting position open, and the salary's good, especially for someone like her. Someone whose advisor said they'd be "unemployable" outside of her old job because of her mouth and her attitude.

Willa knows about the positions Rae was offered, but Rae couldn't make up her mind until Willa left for Iraq. Funny, isn't it?

*

Out of the blue one day, she gets a text from Brad, who tries not to initiate contact with Rae unless absolutely necessary. It's all a front, though; she knows Brad loves her.

 _They're back_ , it reads. Rae resents not being the first to know, but that's the way of it. Processing and paperwork and all that other officer bullshit always takes a few days, so Rae emails Willa the info for her apartment and the free, first-class voucher the office gives their "valued employees." That's why it's surprising when Willa doesn't show up at Rae's door until three weeks later.

"Hi," she says, tired-eyed but smiling. She's gained back a little of the weight Rae knows she lost, though her skin's pale. "Can I come in?" It's a stupid question. Rae steps aside and gets beers from the fridge, which Willa ignores. "I don't want that," she says. "I want _you_. I missed you."  

As soon as her utilities are folded neatly and stowed away, they're on each other, months of pent-up sexual frustration escaping with every kiss, every touch. The bedroom suddenly seems too far away, the trip down the hallway marked by fumbling with Rae's clothes and trying not to be separated for too long.

*

Rae's silent afterward, a rare occurrence. She runs her nails up and down Willa's back, feeling the ladder of her spine. Near her shoulder is a new scar—it doesn't feel like a through-and-through, but it's definitely not a graze. "You weren't declared combat-ineffective with this?" No answer. She presses on. "How come you didn't tell me?"

Minutes pass. Three, then four, and then Rae loses count and she's about to drift off before Willa takes a deep, shaky breath of air.

"They say women aren't supposed to see combat," she starts. Rae doesn't interrupt with a reminder that she knows this, that she served too. "I wasn't supposed to be outside the wire, but the plan was just to do some recon on the bridges and set up obstacles. We got ambushed. We still don't know from where. There were six of them, at least. I was in the turret and they didn't kill me, somehow. My team suffered fifty percent casualties; 3-1 had twenty-five percent and 3-3's Corpsman took two to the neck. We tried to save him, but..." she takes another gulp of oxygen, and Rae wraps her arm around Willa's belly, spooning her. "The other chick with me, Barton, lost an arm. I took one bullet, which they removed with barely any nerve damage. No infection. I'll need a little PT, but I'm fine."

"Are you?" Rae's fingers return to the scar, skimming over it lightly. "On the inside, are you? You seem different."

"I'm fine," she says, turning away. Rae's confused and a little hurt, but chalks it up to Willa needing some more time to decompress. Her eyelids get heavier, and she can't fight sleep for long.

*

The bed's warm when Rae wakes up, and sure enough, Willa's still there, turned on her side. It's weird; normally when she's stateside she shifts in her sleep, not constrained by a narrow grave. "You awake?" she asks, and Willa rolls onto her back. She looks like she didn't sleep at all, and pulls away when Rae tries to kiss her.

A quick breath check tells Rae she doesn't smell worse than usual. Huh.

"I have to get to work soon, but do you want coffee? I'm making a pot anyway." No answer. "How about some bacon?" Willa loves bacon. She shakes her head a little, which is something, but not good.

Rae has two cups of coffee, eggs, toast, and bacon, and then heads to the bathroom to clean up and do her makeup. When she's done, she puts on this hot little shift dress with a cardigan over it. Tights, too, because it's fucking freezing, and leather boots with a small stacked heel. She looks fucking hot, but professional. It's not easy, since she couldn't afford to get a ton of new clothes right away, but she makes it work.

"I left stuff out for you, if you want it, and my number's on the table. I have a lunch conference at eleven-thirty, but tell Blake it's an emergency and she'll come get me. There's plenty of food in the fridge. I'll be home around six-thirty."

"'Kay," Willa says, eyelids fluttering a little.

"And hey," Rae adds on her way out. "I love you, you know."

*

All day, she waits for a call, but there's nothing. She manages to slip out at quarter to six, anxious to get home.

Rae had made another pot of coffee before she left, but it looks like only half a cup is gone. The fridge looks the same. Upon closer inspection she discovers that two slices of bread, two Kraft singles, and three tomato slices aren't there. One grilled cheese.

That's not right. It can't be. Willa should've made two, maybe even three, polished off the unopened bag of chips in the pantry and had at least half a bowl of ice cream. Her worry kicks into high gear when she sees Willa asleep on the couch, video game controller still clutched in her hand. Her hair's unwashed, and her eyes are flicking back and forth beneath her eyelids.

Rae doesn't have the heart to wake her. She eats dinner in the kitchen and spends the evening fucking around on her laptop.

*

In the middle of the night, though, she hears a muffled yell and a loud thump, rushes to see what it's all about.

There's no SOP for this, being woken up at ass o'clock by your girlfriend's screams of _contact right!_ Seeing her with her eyes open and nothing behind them. Wondering whether it's better to back away or touch her and risk getting hurt. The knives are a couple meters away, easily within reach.

"Hasser," she says in the calmest voice she can manage. If Willa thinks she's in theater but there's no enemy threat, she might snap out of it. "The report of an enemy attack was in error. I _repeat_ , the alert that we were about to be overrun was, again, in error. The captain was mistaken. He thought he saw Taliban fighters, but they were just new Afghan Nationals he didn't recognize. Useless as ever, huh?" She kind of sounds like the LT, talking Willa down, and it gets her subdued enough that Rae can take her by the shoulder and guide her back to bed.

*  

Willa says she slept okay, and seems to have no recollection of what happened, so Rae doesn't ask. A routine quickly develops: Rae wakes up, gets dressed, has breakfast. (Sometimes Willa sleeps; sometimes she doesn't.) She leaves food and coffee out for Willa, half-expecting a frantic call at the office, but it never comes. Most nights, she manages to leave by six if she pushes herself. All Willa ever appears to eat is that grilled cheese, so Rae makes sure they don't run out of bread, over-processed cheese food, or tomatoes.

Instead of music now, the "ambient noise" is the _game over_ theme from the Xbox's system. The controller is always cocooned in Willa's hand, like a grenade.

*

And then one night, Rae wakes up to Willa frantic, thrashing around in their bed like she's drowning or being hauled away. The calm approach doesn't work this time— _really_ , she thinks absently—so she tries straddling Willa in hopes of pinning her to the bed. That just gets Rae a hit to the nose, and she crumples in pain, rolling away.

" _Fuck_ , Willa!" she curses. "You're not in fucking Iraq anymore." Blood is pouring from her nose, it seems like, and she can't hold in a sob of pain. That must...actually, she has no idea what does it, but Willa snaps awake, normal again, murmuring apologies. Gently, Rae tries to assess the damage, but it's too painful to touch, and it feels crooked.

"I didn't even know," Willa says. "I thought..."

"I think it's broken!" Rae interrupts. The ice she puts on it doesn't help at all, so she drives herself to the hospital.

*  

The injury turns out to be "non-emergent," or so the triage nurse says; Rae ends up sitting in the ER for hours before she finally gets some painkillers. There's blood in the back of her throat when she's finally seen, and it makes her nauseous.

This scared, androgynous-looking little intern examines her, declaring it a displaced fracture that's not serious enough to need surgery, and gives Rae packing while asking what happened.

 "I fell," Rae responds in a snotty voice. "Do you think I could see someone who's, like, a resident or something? Not an intern. I just have a quick question."  

The intern sighs, but returns a few minutes later with a doctor who's clearly past his residency. "Yes?" he asks gruffly.

"I have this friend," Rae starts. "I think she might have PTSD, which explains the nose thing."

"And what makes you say that?"

"She's been acting weird. She eats almost nothing, she doesn't get a lot of sleep and has nightmares when she does, she's lethargic all the time, she won't let...her boyfriend touch her, and she punched me when I tried to calm her down."  

"Veteran?" he asks, eyes softening a little. He could've been in Vietnam, Rae thinks. He's still kind of built, and stands like there's a rod holding him up.

"Yeah," Rae says. "I probably can't help her enough, but the VA's not going to diagnose her with anything. Fucking idiots."

"Everyone reacts to trauma differently," the guy says. "We have treatment and support groups here, but the best thing you can do for her is to be there. Listen if she wants to talk. Don't push her. There's a lot of advice online, if you're willing to look, but take it with a grain of salt."

"Thanks."

*

Rae wants to listen to what the doctor says and not push it, really, but fuck if she's going to go to work in a week with a black eye. For dinner, she makes twice-baked potatoes—Willa's favorite—and some salad, and wakes her up.

"You're not fine," she states, pouring a glass of wine. She has a feeling she's going to need it.  

"I know." Willa's voice sounds so small and weak. Completely unlike her.

"Then why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have been mad. Really. I got you a plane ticket; I said you could stay as long as you wanted. I gave you space because I thought you needed it. I cooked for you, I let you be a couch potato and sleep as much as you wanted. I bought you food and I tried to make you feel comfortable. I held you while you screamed and I let you break my fucking _nose_. What did I do that implied I'd be mad if you _bothered_ to say, 'hey, I'm actually not that okay. I'm a little fucked up and I need you to just be there?'"

It looks like tears are forming in Willa's eyes, but she blinks them back and says, "We were fine after OIF. Almost all of us were. Normal. Nothing wrong. You're not...trained to handle this, Rae. Plus, you're not great with the serious stuff and you got this awesome new job and I thought you'd panic." She takes a drink of water before continuing. "I saw the VA doctors before I came. My psychiatrist thinks I'm fine, just having a little trouble adjusting to civilian life. He said I don't have PTSD because I wasn't in combat. I'm just 'depressed,' is all. I'm supposed to do things that make me happy, like get a tattoo or eat some fucking ice cream. He wouldn't write me a prescription for anything, and I can't..."

She reaches across the table to hold Willa's hand. "I'll look into some things," she says. "We'll get through this. I should probably tell you, though, since we're being honest. Um...I made out with someone else when you were gone. I know I'm a terrible person, and—"

"Just don't do it again," Willa says, giving her a little smile. _What the fuck?_ She must see Rae's confused look, because she clarifies, "You did so much for me, and I broke your nose. I think we're okay. Unless you do it again, in which case we'll have a serious problem."

Rae laughs in what feels like the first time in weeks. "I'm glad you're back." She's at peace, something she could never manage in yoga class.


End file.
